"I have come here now, not merely to tell you this, but to add that I intend to relieve you of the care of--ah, the little boy."

Miss Lydia was silent.

"There are things I should like to give him. He says he wants a pony.

And I mean to educate him. It would seem strange to do this as an outsider; it might cause--ah, comment. So I am going to take him."

"Any grandfather would want to," said Lydia Sampson.

Mr. Smith raised his bushy eyebrows. "Well, we won't put it on that ground. But I like the boy, though I hear he gets into fights; I'm afraid he has the devil of a temper," said Mr. Smith, chuckling proudly.

"But I've watched him, and he's no coward and no fool, either. In fact, I hear that he is a wonder mathematically. G.o.d knows where he got his brains! Well, I am going to adopt him. But that will make no difference in your income. That is a.s.sured to you as long as you live. I am indebted to you, Miss Sampson. Profoundly indebted."

"Not at all," said Miss Lydia.

"I shall have a governess for him," said Mr. Smith; "but I hope you will not be too much occupied"--his voice was very genial, and as he spoke he bore down hard on his cane and began to struggle to his feet--"not too much occupied to keep a friendly eye upon him." He was standing now, a rather Jove-like figure, before whom Miss Lydia looked really like a little brown gra.s.shopper. "Yes, I trust you will not lose your interest in him," he ended.

"I won't," she said, faintly.

"I have made all the arrangements," said Johnny's grandfather. "I simply told--ah, the people who know about him, that I was going to take him."

He was standing, switching his cane behind him; it hit an encroaching table leg and he apologized profusely. "Mary was badly scared. As if I could not manage a thing like that! I like to scare--him"--the new Mr.

Smith lifted his upper lip, and his teeth gleamed--"but, of course, I told her not to worry. Well, I hope you will see him frequently."

"I shall," said Miss Lydia.

"Of course you and I must tell the same story as to his antecedents. So if you will let me know how you have accounted for him, I'll be a very good parrot!"

"I haven't told any stories. I just let people call him Smith, and I just said--to Johnny, and everybody--that I was a friend of his mother's. That's true, you know."

"It is true, madam; it is, indeed!" said Mary's father. He bowed with grave courtliness. "There was never a better friend than you, Miss Sampson."

"I've been very careful not to tell anything that wasn't true," said Miss Lydia. "I told Johnny his father and mother had lived out West; they did, you know, for four months. Johnny began to ask questions when he was only five; he said he wished _he_ had a mother like other little boys. I had to tell him something, so I told him her name had been Norton. That is true, you know. Mary's middle name is Norton. And I said I didn't know of any cousins or uncles; and that's true. And I said 'I had been told' that his father and mother had been killed in a carriage accident. I _was_ told so; people made it up," said Miss Lydia, simply, "so I just let 'em. I never said his parents had died that way. Well, it made Johnny cry. He used to say: 'Poor mamma! Poor mamma!' I haven't told what you'd call lies; I have only reserved the truth."

"Pathetic, his 'wanting' a mother," said Mr. Smith. "d.a.m.n my son-in-law!

Excuse me, madam."

"It would be nice if you would forgive him," Miss Lydia suggested, timidly.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I never forgive. . . . Well, I will keep up the geographical fiction and the runaway horses. And now I must not detain you further. I will take the boy to-morrow."

He put out his big hand, and Miss Lydia, putting her little one into it, said:

"Who is going to adopt him?"

"Who?" said Mr. Smith. "Why, I! Who did you suppose was going to--Robertson? My dear Miss Sampson, rea.s.sure yourself on that point!

That hound shall never get hold of him!"

"Of course," Miss Lydia agreed, nodding, "Johnny's parents, or his grandfather, have a right to him."

Mr. Smith was just leaving the room, but he paused on the threshold and flung a careless word back to her: "His parents could never take him.

The thing would come out."

"If his _grandfather_ takes him it will come out," said Miss Lydia, following him into the hall.

"Yes, but his 'grandfather' won't take him," the old man said, with a grunt of amus.e.m.e.nt; "it is 'Mr. Smith' who is going to do that."

"'Mr. Smith' can't."

Her caller turned and stared at her blankly.

"His 'grandfather' can have him," said Miss Lydia.

"_What!_"

"His relations can have Johnny."

"But I--"

"If you are a relation," Miss Lydia said--her voice was only a little whisper--"you can have him."

They stood there in the hall, the big man, and the small, battling gambler of a woman, who was staking her most precious possession--a disowned child--on the chance that the pride of the man would outweigh his desire for ownership. Their eyes--misty, frightened blue, and flashing black--seemed to meet and clash. "He won't dare," she was saying to herself, her heart pounding in her throat. And Johnny's grandfather was saying to himself, very softly, "The devil!" He bent a little, as an elephant might stoop to scrutinize a gra.s.shopper which was trying to block his way, and looked at her. Then he roared with laughter.

"Well, upon my word!" he said. He put his cane under his arm, fumbled for his handkerchief, and wiped his eyes. "Miss Sampson," he said, "you are a bully. And you would be a highly successful blackmailer. But you are no coward; I'll say that for you. You are a d.a.m.ned game little party! I'll see to you, ma'am, I'll see to you!--_and I'll get the child_. But I like you. d.a.m.ned if I don't!"

CHAPTER III

THE gambler went on her trembling legs back to her cluttered parlor and sat down, panting and pallid. The throw of the dice had been in her favor!

It was curious that she had no misgiving as to what she was doing in thus closing the door of opportunity to Johnny--for of course, the new Mr. Smith's protection would mean every sort of material opportunity for him! If it had been his "grandfather's" protection which had been offered, perhaps she might have hesitated, for that would have meant material opportunity plus a love great enough to tell the truth; and Miss Lydia's own love--which was but a spiritual opportunity--could not compete with that! As it was, she tested opportunities by saying, "His _grandfather_ can have him."

Of course it was just her old method of choosing the better part. . . .

All her life this gallant, timid woman had weighed values. She had weighed the reputation of being a jilt as against marriage to a man she did not respect--and she found the temporary notoriety of the first lighter than the lifelong burden of the second. She weighed values again, when she put her hundred dollars' worth of generosity on one side of the scales, and William's meanness on the other--and when generosity kicked the beam she was glad to be jilted. She had even weighed the painful unrealities of concealed poverty as against open shabbiness, and she saw that a dress she couldn't afford was a greater load to carry than the consciousness of the spot on her old skirt--especially as the spot was glorified by the memory of a friend's hospitality!

So now, when the new Mr. Smith considered adopting her boy, this simple soul weighed values for Johnny: Mr. Smith--or Johnny's grandfather?

Pride--or love? And pride outweighed love. Miss Lydia put her hands over her face and prayed aloud: "G.o.d, keep him proud, so I can keep Johnny!"

Apparently G.o.d did, for it was only "Mr. Smith" who made further efforts to get her child. They were very determined efforts. Miss Lydia's landlord saw her again, and urged. She met what he had to say with a speechless obstinacy which made him extremely angry. When he saw her a third time he offered her an extraordinary increase in the honorarium--for which he had the grace five minutes later to apologize.

He saw her once more, and threatened he would "take" Johnny, anyhow!

"How?" said poor, shaking Miss Lydia. Then, as a last resort, he sent his lawyer to her, which scared her almost to death. But the interview produced, for Mr. Smith, nothing except legal a.s.surance that he could doubtless secure the person of his grandson by appealing to the courts _in the character of a grandfather_--for Miss Lydia had never taken out papers for adoption.

"The lady has nine-tenths of the law," said Mr. Smith's legal adviser, who had been consulted, first, as to a hypothetical case, and then told the facts. "The other one-tenth won't secure a child whom you don't claim as a relative. And the law means publicity."

"The hussy!" said Mr. Smith. "She's put a spoke in my wheel."

"She has," said the lawyer, and grinned behind his hand.